My usual luck, you know," and
his black eyes rested a moment, on her face and then wandered to
where Edith sat. Did he mean anything by this? Had the waves of
time, which had beaten and battered his heart so long, brought it
back at last to its first starting point, Grace Elmendorff? Time
only can tell. He believed his youthful passion had died out years
ago, that matrimony was for him an utter impossibility.
He had been comparatively happy across the sea, and he was happier
still now that he was at home, wishing he had come before, and
wondering why it was that the sight of Edith did not pain him, as
he feared it would. He liked to look at her, to hear her musical
voice, to watch her graceful movements as she flitted about the
house, and as the days and weeks went on he grew young again in
her society, until he was much like the Richard to whom she once
said, "I will be your wife," save that his raven hair was tinged
with grey, making him, as some thought, finer-looking than ever.
To Arthur and Edith he was like a dearly beloved brother; while to
Dick and Nina he was all the world.
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